For the King Read online

  The Xanites – mostly cannibalistic followers of the Goddess Ashwamei – had chased his small group of pirates off the rogue planet when they’d slaughtered the upper echelon priests to free one of their friends. Zocan dearly hoped all the blood and death had been worth it and that Ssszit had escaped cleanly with the fascinating Lacy and her half-breed male, Bram.

  The ship they’d taken was the High Priest’s official barge. It didn’t run to CORANOS Galactic Alliance regen beds – which was unusual for a ship of this size and caliber. Zocan believed that the priests probably had a feast when one of their own was injured.

  “Put her here.” Zocan gestured to a medical treatment table that looked relatively clean. “We’ll have to treat her manually.”

  Lyon gently deposited the unhappy female onto the high table, growling when she tried to roll away from him. “She’s feisty,” Lyon observed, sparing him a worried look. “Do you really think she’s a Yurther like Lacy?”

  Zocan gathered the necessary supplies and carted them over to the table. “We’ll know more once we get her cleaned up.” He didn’t like how eager Lyon was to help. Lyon was a formidable fighter, but the female was a dangerous unknown as she’d already proven by killing the priest.

  “You think we’re primed to see her as a Yurther because we spent so much time with Lacy recently, don’t you?” Lyon asked, mistaking Zocan’s concerned silence for caution regarding compatibility.

  “Let us refrain from speculation,” Zocan demurred. After what had happened to Lara, the most fearsome female he’d ever known, he wasn’t sure any female could be kept safe from the life they chose. They’d been over the myriad reasons they couldn’t take another female with them through the galaxy many, many times. It was a tired argument.

  He ripped open a pre-soaked antiseptic cloth and passed it to Lyon.

  Lyon accepted the proffered cleansing cloth and ran it cautiously over the female’s filthy hand. She resisted the effort. Vigorously. Her hands slapped, her feet kicked, and the small, square teeth snapped constantly.

  “You’re going to have to restrain her,” Zocan observed, resigned to doing this the hard way. They didn’t have time to coddle her.

  Oblivious to their conversation, the ragged prisoner spat and fought, resisting every effort to render aid. Some of the time, her hacking words sounded like the words the Yurther, Lacy, had used. Other times, she seemed to speak in a language that, while no less vicious, flowed differently.

  Lyon, his wide fighter’s face creasing into a frown, batted aside her passionate defense as he disagreed, “She’s been through so much already. I hate the idea of holding her down.” He tried a different approach, capturing one flailing leg and cleansing the infected skin over her ankle.

  The female howled in pain and slapped out, catching Lyon broadly across the face with her palm. He shook it off with an uncharacteristically compassionate glance for her before turning concerned eyes back to Zocan. “I can’t restrain her. She’s terrified. Look at her,” he urged, his voice smooth and even despite the underlying passion.

  Zocan bit back his impatience. Lyon desperately wanted a third mate – the female leg of the triangle – to complete their trinepact. As Lyarans, their biological directive compelled them to complete the trinepact and Zocan and Lyon had been without that missing piece of their relationship for many, many termis - since before the destruction of their home planet of Lyara. Of late, several compatible females had slipped through their hands. It was clear Lyon didn’t want that to happen again.

  “She’s naked,” Lyon continued. “The dead priest had his loincloth around his ankles. It’s obvious she’s been abused – there is blood and vomit and filth over nearly every part of her, her hair is probably going to have to be shaved off it is so matted and filthy. We don’t want to make things worse.”

  “I understand the need for a certain amount of delicacy,” Zocan began diplomatically. He didn’t want to fight with his fierce, noble mate; however, they had other responsibilities to fulfill right now. It was important that they steel themselves against those terrified, dark eyes and the piteous yelps. “But we need to set coordinates and prepare to fight off any pursuers from Xani. The remaining cannibals will eventually organize and come after us. We cannot risk ourselves to coddle this one – no matter how lovely she is.”

  “Leave her to me,” Lyon urged softly, turning his attention back to the filthy female. “I will see that she’s cleaned and properly treated. You attend to the ship. If that does not suit, let us trade duties – but do not restrain her. Please.”

  Rather than argue, Zocan clasped his love’s upper arm supportively and said, “I expect you will have a care for yourself. Do not underestimate her.” He spared a glance for the patient. Her wide, dark eyes were glassy with shock and pain. Still, she resisted. Hopefully, that warrior’s spirit would see her through this ordeal with minimal damage. “I will be on the bridge.”

  Zocan made his escape. He felt like a coward for leaving Lyon to deal with the captive. Yet, someone had to think of their safety. The fact that he normally would have been the male offering aid to a female and was instead foisting that duty upon his mate wasn’t lost on him. He simply could not get too close to another female only to lose her to the cruel whims of the universe again.

  Chapter Four

  The cramped room where the big aliens had carried Nora was bright. The glare from the slick white surfaces after so much time in the dingy red-tinged room made her eyes tear, blurring her surroundings.

  Her naked bottom rested on a cold, hard table. The harsh light emanated from several recessed areas in the sterile ceiling, spotlighting various points in the meticulous room – one of which was her.

  She forced her eyes wide in the hopes they’d adjust quicker, that she’d be able to see to the shadowed periphery of the room and maybe find a weapon, but it was a losing battle as she tried to combat the strangers and their groping hands. Fortunately, the two aliens seemed more interested in talking to one another than touching her.

  Her vision cleared though she still had to squint as one alien, his long blonde braid whipping, exited the room. The sliding door closed behind him with an ominous hiss.

  Nora gave a violent shiver when the piercing yellow eyes of the other alien turned to her. He could - almost - be mistaken for someone from Earth if it weren’t for the star-shaped pupils in the middle of his irises.

  She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly while he watched her unblinkingly. He didn’t make any sudden moves toward her. Given her current situation, him keeping his distance could only be considered a win.

  Slowly, she extended her hand, pointed at the wet, white rag clenched in his big fist and flipped her palm over to wiggle her fingers. “Give me that,” she enunciated, infusing faux sweetness through the steely command.

  While the two gray-clad giants had been speaking to one another, she’d figured a few things out. First, the stinging liquid on the rag quickly morphed into an analgesic. She wanted more of that in her life. Pronto. If she could find something to ease the bone-deep ache that permeated her entire being, she’d hop on that, too.

  Second, they’d frightened the daylights out of her when they stormed into the little cell she’d been in, but they hadn’t deliberately hurt her. Yet. Not to say they hadn’t scraped her raw when they unlocked the cuffs from her ankles, but that didn’t seem intentional. The long-haired guy had even winced at her cry of pain. That seemed to indicate he didn’t care to see her harmed. Their acquaintance was new, so she couldn’t say if the gentle giant routine would last – but she wanted to take advantage of it to regain her strength – and hopefully some dignity - while it was an option.

  This alien - the scarier of the two if she was being candid, was broad and tall and very intimidating despite his ridiculous unitard. His wide face, the nose looking like it had taken a punch or two, was impossible to read; however, he was gentle when he cradled her hand and pressed the cloth into her waiting palm.


  She cringed away from his touch. Timidity wasn’t the message she wanted to send, but it worked out as he frowned and took a deliberate step back, hands raised placatingly in front of him.

  Nora recovered and kept her challenging gaze locked with his until he backed way off. He said something in his sing-song language and took another measured pace over to a wall-mounted cabinet. When it didn’t immediately open, he cast an apologetic look her way and tore it off the wall.

  Her mouth fell open as he calmly laid the cabinet on the counter beneath where it had hung and began to rip it apart with his bare hands. The material, some sort of metal-plastic hybrid, made a screeching hiss as it gave.

  Glancing around, she saw more cabinets and counters on the alien’s side of the room. A quick look behind her had her wishing she hadn’t bothered. The entire wall was hung with metal instruments that painted vivid mental pictures of mad scientists or medieval torturers wielding them on restrained victims.

  Nora whipped back to make sure the alien hadn’t sneaked up on her – and wasn’t about to tie her down and vivisect her - but he seemed intent on his task. She quickly began to cleanse herself with the cloth. The faster she was back on her feet, the better.

  Within moments, the pristine cloth was covered in blood and muck. She made a disgusted face, holding her hands out and really looking them over. Under the bright white light, she was even more of a mess than she’d realized. “Gross.”

  He looked up and made a sympathetic noise – a half-growl, half-whimper. Next to the damaged cabinet, he’d made a pile of items. Selecting a long, silver rectangle, he ripped the end off and shook out a much larger version of the cloth she’d been using.

  Casually, he tossed it to her and returned his attention to inventorying the cabinet.

  She clutched the wet bath-sheet to her chest, her mind busily working. The sheet wasn’t exactly high fashion, and it wouldn’t be warm, but it would cover her and well. Obviously, she needed this one to help her get clean – well, clean-ish – but he had a whole stack of them. Would he let her have one? Or would he freak out like the tattooed aliens had when she’d tried to cover herself?

  Feeling her gaze, he looked up and frowned when he found her sitting idly. He straightened to his full height and faced her squarely.

  “No.” Nora held up a palm. “Don’t come over here. Give me another.” She pointed to the stack of packages next to him and plastered what she hoped was a sweet smile on her face. “Please,” she gritted, feeling a little deranged as she pantomimed again that he should pass her another towel.

  He watched her through narrowed eyes for a few long moments before letting one big palm hover over the stack of towels, a question in his eyes.

  Nora nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Please give that to me,” she said encouragingly.

  Glaciers moved faster, but he finally picked the packet containing the towel up and walked it over to sit it down next to her.

  “Thank you,” she said with a polite nod. “Now go away.” She shooed him back to his task.

  His expression was baffled, but he returned to plundering the cabinet.

  Satisfied that he’d leave her to her own devices, Nora set about cleaning the worst of the grime from her torso and arms. She felt brave enough to slide off the table. When her feet smacked into the cold floor, he glanced up, but didn’t move to force her back. She flipped the big towel behind her body and sawed the towel across her back and bottom.

  Quickly, she opened the other towel and draped it like a toga across her body, tying it over her shoulder. The cloth was cold and wet, but it would dry. It would be well worth a few uncomfortable hours to have a little dignity going forward.

  Chapter Five

  Lyon studied the crude garment the female constructed. Her teeth were chattering and her (marginally) cleaner skin had taken on a blue hue. The cold, disposable cloth clearly wasn’t comfortable, but he admired her ingenuity.

  She industriously used the first cloth to wipe the ends of her matted hair clean. He could hear the cloth tearing at the knots in her hair. It would take hours, but maybe she could avoid having to cut it all off. Although, she still vaguely smelled of blood and vomit. Perhaps it would be better if they shaved her head…

  Pity stirred in his heart. He beat it back. She didn’t need pity. She needed help.

  Though they didn’t understand one another, she managed to make her wishes known. She was no timid flower. Lyon found he wholeheartedly approved of her confrontational demeanor. This feisty female reminded him of Lara, the sister of his heart.

  He, Zocan and Ssszit – their long-time friend - had taken Lara on as crew when she’d snuck aboard their ship, the Nom’magata, many termis ago. She’d worked her way into all their hearts to varying degrees. Zocan had believed her to be a good mate match, but Lyon had been unable to see the fiercely brave stowaway as anything other than family.

  Ssszit, a Tixerian psychic and Zocan’s trusted advisor, had sided with Lyon, to Zocan’s dismay. Now that Lara had been stolen from them by the traitorous Vank D’Corian, Lyon feared Zocan’s heart would remain closed to the possibility of a female mate forever. He’d all but thrown the Yurther Lacy at Bram to avoid taking responsibility for her. The mouthy female had proved a good match for the taciturn Doranos.

  Lyon had watched them find one another with envy. He felt a desperate need to complete the trinepact he and Zocan had started so long ago. It was as if the universe taunted him by dropping female after female into their lives – each one destined for someone else. He turned speculative eyes on the survivor and quickly looked away.

  This female was in no shape to be anyone’s mate. Her bravery in the face of such horror was amazing, but she had a long journey to recovery if the hanging skin and lax muscles of her body were anything to go by.

  Returning to more prosaic matters, clothing for her was going to be an issue. The priests he’d encountered hadn’t worn much. Ostensibly, their lack of clothing was to showcase their powerful muscles and gory body art. Lyon couldn’t figure out how the cannibals survived if they constantly sought to ingest powerful beings – it seemed like a self-limiting process.

  He scratched his fingers through his short hair as he considered the whole ridiculous scenario. Perhaps their recruitment numbers were just that high. Otherwise, how would they continue to flourish with so many prime members being cut down to feed the goddesses’ bloodthirsty demands? It was a puzzle for another time.

  For now, they could search the mean crew quarters for a stray item of clothing, but the ship had been running with a skeleton crew. It didn’t seem likely that any of the priests would be full-time ship residents when it was docked in the home port. Still, they would look.

  He sighed as he surveyed the room. The female still struggled doggedly with her locks. She really needed a good liquid dousing. That wasn’t on the menu of amenities. Cruisers of this caliber – even older ones like this - were often gaudily luxurious, but most space-faring vessels didn’t cart liquid.

  There wasn’t so much as a basic sonishower in sight…unless… He quickly strode over to the wall of torture instruments. Many medical areas kept a sonishower near the water closet. Here, he saw neither feature, but perhaps he hadn’t looked close enough because he hadn’t wanted to consider the terrible things that must have gone on in this room.

  The rustle of movement stopped, and he turned to see the female scowling at him. “N-ho! N-ho!” She coughed, crossing her arms in front of her body and shaking her head from side to side. “Dohn’te-ven-tinkbout-etpen-day-ho!” She sliced her arms out wide in a decisive movement to indicate her displeasure.

  “We’re going to find a better way to communicate, so you’re not so mistrustful,” he assured her, turning back to study the wall. “First, we need to get you cleaned up.”

  Perhaps the wall had a hidden seam? Some ships were made with the option to hide bulky appliances when not in use.

  Torture devices hung on primitive hooks and pe
gs to either side of a smooth, hand-width expanse of white wall. Lyon experimentally slid his fingertips over the unadorned portion of the wall. A cold hand gripped his wrist and he turned, surprised, to see the female standing at his side.

  “N-oh,” she said, quietly pleading, as the wall emitted a shrill beep, beep, beep.

  They both turned as the wall panels began to slide apart – he, expectant and she, shocked. The clear-fronted appliances behind the wall lit up, the light flickering several times before shining steadily.

  The female let out a wail of fear and covered her face with both hands as Lyon realized he’d found the answer to the question of how the priests fed themselves without over-harvesting their ranks.

  Three large Novink males, faces twisted grotesquely, stared out from the fluid in which they floated. Each big, blue body sported four arms and multiple wounds. If he had to guess, they hadn’t died easily.

  “Come,” he urged, drawing her away from the cold storage. “I’ll find someplace else for you to rest and finish your grooming.”

  She didn’t resist when he led her from the room, bare feet slapping as he hurried her along. Her reaction to the three-dimensional art installations running the length of the corridor wasn’t good. She cringed and cowered with each new step. Tears and snot rolled anew as they walked.

  He scooped her into his arms once more, and she choked on a sob as the graphic scenes of battle and dismemberment jumped out around them. They really needed to find a way to turn that particular feature off.

  Chapter Six

  Nora huddled under a blanket and tried to get comfortable on the jelly-filled mattress as she painstakingly picked through the matted tangles in her curly hair. Clumps of dry, lusterless hair littered the bed around her. She was so overwrought by the hair loss that the pricks of pain to her scalp were almost a welcome distraction.